


make it better

by Tanacetum



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 20:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14552460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanacetum/pseuds/Tanacetum
Summary: It's vampire smut, y'all.





	make it better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distractedKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractedKat/gifts).



> Yes, I wrote 6.5k of vampire smut. I have nothing to say in my defense, beyond that a pretty girl told me to.
> 
> If you know me in real life please think very carefully about whether you want to have to look me in the face after reading this.

Caleb and Nott are both miserable hours after the battle, pale and fatigued. Molly had been sure that Caleb was safe on the backline, hadn’t seen the gnolls land a single hit on him. But he’d looked so nauseated in the immediate aftermath that Jester had checked him over first, even before she got to the blood running down Molly’s neck.

Caleb had waved her off. He’d stuck to Nott’s side, talking in whispers, and they’d slunk away the minute everyone else started making camp. Leaving Molly to help set up tents when he wants to flop down and nurse his self-inflicted cuts. Maybe drink a little. Jester wasn’t even helping. She was neglecting to stir the stew over the fire, scribbling away to the Traveler with Frumpkin in her lap.

Molly doesn’t care whether the tents could stand up to a stiff breeze. His mind’s stuck on the look of sheer anxiety Caleb had given him before disappearing. It was very hard to escalate their relationship past flirtation and stolen kisses when Caleb wouldn’t let Molly fuss over him. They’ve made out once, and Molly knows it was exactly nine days ago without even trying to count.

The last tent’s mostly up now. The only thing left to do is pound the stakes in. Molly catches Fjord’s eye and pouts. “I can’t do this any longer,” he says, sighing dramatically. Fjord rolls his eyes before Molly’s even into his spiel—rude! “Not when our dear wizard might be off dying in the woods.”

Beau takes the mallet from Molly and starts pounding the first stake in. Excellent, he’s already won. “It’s only been twenty minutes. He’s probably just shitting.”

“What if he _is_ dying, though?” Molly says, heading over to Jester. He drapes over her shoulders to give Frumpkin a scratch and peek at her notebook. She’s drawing decapitated gnolls with fountains of sparkles pouring from the stumps of their necks, cute.

She leans back against him. “You mean, what if poor Caleb is bleeding out somewhere in the forest? What if he’s lying there, like in the leaves, and Nott’s crying over him? And they’re wishing they had better friends who checked on them?”

Molly groans theatrically enough to blow her bangs out of place. “Oh gods, I’m dumped, aren’t I?” In truth, he knows that Caleb is a grown man who deserves to have space when he needs it. Molly might wish he understood more about Caleb’s many boundaries, but he respects them nonetheless.

“Don’t be a baby,” Jester says. “You’re adorable together. He still gets nervous when you hold his hand.”

From across the campfire, Beau shouts, “Yeah, he’s not gonna dump you until he has a chance to learn what a colossal disappointment you are at pitching tents!”

Molly knocks his horns into Jester’s when he claps a hand over his eyes. “It’s nice to have such supportive friends.”

It takes Fjord coming over and scraping at the bottom of the pot to get the stew really ready, burnt bits and all. Nott reappears halfway through the meal and accepts a bowl.

“He’s fine,” she says, before Molly can even open his mouth to ask.

“ _Wow_ , just how do you know he was going to ask about Caleb?” Jester laughs. “Maybe he was going to ask about why _you_ look so tired!”

Now that she mentions it, Nott does look tired. Blotchy and wan. “Yes, of course! Nott, as my very dear friend—are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says. Then she shoves a thick chunk of meat into her mouth and chews.

“Must be some shit if Caleb’s still out there,” Beau says.

“You guys aren’t sick, are you?” Fjord asks. “Friends warn friends about dysentery.”

“We’re fine!” Nott protests with her mouth full, far too shrilly to be believable. “We don’t have _dysentery_. He’s just reading!”

“Whenever he gets back he can clean up for us,” Beau says, letting the ladle clatter to the bottom of the pot. “I’m _done_ for tonight.”

“Nott, tell Caleb he needs to stop skipping meals,” Jester says. “If he gets any more skinny he will disappear when he turns sideways! And we’ll spend the rest of our days looking for him, like ohhhh noooo, Caleb, where have you vanished to? But he’ll be right there, _two-dimensional_.”

“Speaking of vanishing, is he planning to come to bed before dark?” Fjord asks. He’d better hurry if so—the sun hasn’t been visible over the trees for some minutes.

“Actually,” Nott says, fixing Molly with a stare, “he said it would be okay if _Molly_ went to check on him.”

Molly’s on his feet before he registers everyone else groaning. “Don’t fall asleep out there,” Fjord says. “We don’t know what else is in these woods.”

“But do have fun!” Jester says. “Please get to the spicy parts of your relationship. You both look _so sad_ when you pine.”

“You say that like them finally getting laid isn’t going to make things a hundred times more awkward,” Beau says. Molly flips her off and jogs into the trees Nott emerged from earlier.

Caleb’s sitting cross-legged at the base of a tree down an overgrown deer track. Molly spots the light hanging above his head from meters off, through thick tangles of draping foliage. He knows Caleb heard him coming because he walked into what feels like every branch in the forest on the way. The path Nott picked was practically a tunnel, perfect for little goblins and onerous for full-grown tieflings. Molly’s alright with that. If he and Caleb were meeting on the road or at the edge of the campsite’s clearing then he’d worry that this might be a breakup conversation. But enclosed on the forest floor, leaves on all sides, with only Caleb’s spell for light? That feels intimate.

Molly crashes out of the underbrush and stoops to shake leaves out of his hair. He kneels on the ground by Caleb and picks twigs out of the curves of his horns. One gets lost down his open collar and he unashamedly fishes for it. Caleb’s so skittish around him and Molly isn’t above acting like a bit of a fool to help him relax. When he looks up Caleb’s closed his book and has a smile quirking his lips.

“Hey sweetheart,” Molly says, grinning. “You missed dinner, but I’m here for dessert.”

Caleb closes his eyes and lets his head thud back against the tree. “We need to have a conversation, Mollymauk. About us.”

Molly’s heart stops. He’d let his guard down. “Of course,” he says, sitting back on his heels. His shoulders are hunched up around his ears and he’s digging claws into his knees. He does his best to look relaxed.

Caleb doesn’t say anything. He’s turned away, cheek pressed into the tree, staring fixedly at nothing. “What do we need to talk about?” Molly prompts him, carefully leaving the pet name off.

He can be professional about this. They’re still going to have to work together, after all. And it’s fine. They were just—trying things out. Hadn’t even been a month yet, they’d barely had a proper date. He should have seen this coming, really, with how little Caleb wanted to touch him.

He’d caught Caleb _looking_ plenty. Had hoped he was just shy. Maybe Molly needs to take a second look at Fjord, or find a tavern in the next town they pass through. It’d clear his head to remind himself that he’s desirable. To feel wanted.

“I have not been honest with you,” Caleb says. He trails off, curling his knees up to his chest.

Molly nods. “You don’t have to—spare my feelings. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Caleb finally turns towards Molly. His eyes are wide in the dark, reflecting the light hanging close overhead. Molly loves how it casts his hair into a halo of fiery reds and golds. Molly dearly wishes he could’ve had his fingers in that hair more. “…What did Nott tell you?” Caleb asks.

“Absolutely nothing,” Molly says. “What should she have told me?” He really will be pissed if Caleb sent Nott to break up with him. There’s shyness and then there’s being unfair to your friends.

“Because of the… _circumstances_ of our first meeting, Nott knows certain things about me. Things that I have not…confided, in any of you,” Caleb says. “And—it might be time for me to come clean.”

Once Molly might’ve made a joke about bathing. Now what he has with Caleb is so fragile that he’s afraid any teasing will shatter it entirely. “You shouldn’t tell me,” he says abruptly, “if it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll be there for you if you let me, but I understand—whatever you need. If you need something from me. Please just tell me.”

Caleb hides his face in his knees. “I have never had this conversation before,” he says. “I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

“Caleb,” Molly says, “dear, sweet Caleb—I can’t imagine what you could say to lose my friendship.” Caleb could have burned down a nunnery full of orphans and Molly would still be smitten. In the months they’ve known each other Caleb has proven time and time again that he’s a good man and a true friend. Besides, Molly doubtlessly has the dire past of someone else’s life looming over his shoulder, and he doubts Caleb would abandon him over it.

Caleb finally peeks at Molly. “And if I said I was a vampire?”

Molly lets those words hang in the air, mouth gaping. Caleb flinches. “Is—that’s it?” he says. “Wait, is that really it?” That can’t be it. Caleb walks along in broad daylight with them all the time.

Caleb also lives with his nose buried in books, barely notices food, avoids bathing, jumps at unexpected touches, and gets particular about counting. None of those seem like vampire things to Molly. But could they be?

“It’s a hypothetical,” Caleb says. He’s not blushing. Hasn’t blushed in a while, Molly realizes. Especially for someone he’d once seen go red from his chin to the roots of his hair.

“Is that a kind of joke?” Molly asks. “If so—well, it wasn’t exactly funny.”

Caleb drops his knees and parts his flushed lips just enough to bare tiny fang tips. Molly coos at how adorable it is. “You weren’t joking! How did you hide this? How are you still alive?”

“I’m not,” Caleb says. “That’s rather—there are spells, and tinctures I can use, to keep the sun at bay. It gets expensive.

“Oh, is they why you’re always broke? And why you won’t wash your face?” Molly says. If Caleb’s been avoiding having to reapply some kind of anti-sun ointment then he’s lucky he hasn’t got acne. Maybe that’s a vampire thing. “I won’t tell anyone, Caleb, but they’re also your friends. And the teasing must get old.”

Caleb mumbles something that almost sounds like _“I like it when you tease me.”_

Molly leans in. “To clarify—” he says. “We’re _not_ breaking up?”

“We might have to,” Caleb says. Rats. “Molly, this has been—very hard for me.”

“Uh-huh,” Molly says, stuck on everything he could do with the word hard. Caleb’s put a lot of trust in him. It feels like a weight is off his shoulders, even though they’re not out of the woods yet. Quite literally. “What do you mean by _have to?_ ”

“I’m—somewhat irritated with you,” Caleb tells his knees. “It’s not your fault!” he adds in a rush.

“What can I do to make it better, sweetheart?” Molly says, tail lashing as he fights the impulse to lean into Caleb’s space. He already has a couple ideas for where this might be going. Molly’s knowledge of vampires comes from the kinds of stories told to entertain crowds—so, either horror or smut. He can’t honestly say which stories were more accurate, but he dearly hopes the latter were.

If what Caleb needs is a deserving victim to suck dry—well, at the very worst, the world has no shortage of murderous gnolls for him to devour. Molly’s onboard.

“I haven’t been eating much,” Caleb says.

Molly nods. “Yeah, I think Beau ate your stew at dinner.” Caleb levels a flat look at him. Molly grins cheekily.

Caleb sighs. “It’s somewhat—stressful, to watch you cut yourself open for battle when I haven’t had a full meal in weeks. And—if I may be frank for a moment? I don’t want to bite you when you’re expecting a kiss.”

“Both work for me,” Molly says with a wink. Caleb rolls his eyes, but he’s finally smiling. “I mean, unless it’s a permanent, lethal deal—I don’t, give me some time to warm up to the idea?” Molly imagines himself readjusting his entire wardrobe to cover as much skin as Caleb does. Maybe they can talk the others into traveling exclusively at night. Are vampire tieflings even a thing?

“Gods, no. I wouldn’t turn you,” Caleb says testily.

That’s all Molly needs to hear to start scooting into Caleb’s space. “I don’t know the first thing about vampires.” He’s readying _‘please show me’_ on his tongue when for once, his brain races ahead of his mouth. “Wait, have you been eating _Nott?_ ”

“Yes, and it’s rather become a problem,” Caleb says. “She’s too tiny—she can’t possibly donate enough. Now we’re both anemic.”

“Well of course! You poor thing. I promise _I’m_ more than a mouthful.”

Caleb reaches out and bats at Molly’s shoulder. Molly catches his hand and squeezes it. He loves Caleb’s long, elegant fingers, how cool and dry his skin is. He presses a kiss to Caleb’s wrist. “We are flirting, right?” he asks, after a moment spent examining what Caleb’s hand looks like in his. “I want to be clear—it’s okay if you only want to be friends.” He doesn’t meet Caleb’s eyes. “I still wouldn’t let you starve.”

In the next instant Caleb scrambles up into him and they both overbalance. Molly plants his knees firmly. Caleb catches himself with one hand fisted in Molly’s shirt and another on his thigh. He goes in for a kiss and Molly rushes to meet him only to snag the dangling gold chains hanging from his horns on the branches close overhead.

Caleb pecks his lips and draws back laughing. “We’re disasters,” Molly says. “Points on the atmosphere here, really and truly, but I’m not used to having so many problems in the bedroom.”

“Yes, that is fair,” Caleb says with a wicked smirk. “Let’s be heading back to camp, then.”

“Now hang on! I just got here!” Molly spreads his knees, tail tip wagging. He can recover from this. He’s kneeling with his shirt collar sliding down, trapped horns baring his throat. He holds the pose. “And I think I remember offering dessert.”

Caleb’s pupils shrink to pinpricks, his fingers tighten and his throat bobs. “You’re aware we’re talking about blood-drinking, yes? I need to know that we’re on the same page.”

Molly runs the tip of his tongue across his teeth and leers. “C’mon. We can make this fun. Eat me.”

Caleb looks winded. “I’ve—I’ve got a little bowl, and a knife. I needn't bite you.”

“Adding knives is a level of kink I didn’t prepare for,” Molly says.

“I think I am fully aware of what you’re prepared for, Mollymauk,” Caleb says. He shuffles forward, practically crouching between Molly’s knees, and reaches up to gently unhook his horns. “You don’t _drop_ hints so much as _lob_ them.”

Molly gets as far as “I have never in my life merely hinted any—” before Caleb leans into Molly and seals their mouths in a forceful kiss.

He resists opening his mouth for Molly’s probing tongue, when Molly tries to deepen the kiss. Molly pulls back after a few seconds. The hard ground’s not kind to his knees with Caleb’s added weight. He shifts back and tries to get comfortable. Caleb shucks his coat off and passes it behind Molly’s back. Then he crawls between Molly’s legs and then flops against his chest like an overgrown cat, shoving him down. Molly stretches out. The fabric’s not warm, but it smells exactly like Caleb—like loamy earth and smoke, and something that might be oil. He’d roll in it if he wasn’t pinned under Caleb’s weight.

“This is nice,” Caleb says. Molly has just enough time to wonder if makeouts are over before Caleb slides a hand into his shirt. He pauses with his wrist down Molly’s collar and the light overhead winks out. Then his hand goes straight for Molly’s nipple and flicks it. Molly stifles a laugh. When his eyes adjust to the dark he realizes that Caleb’s smiling down at him.

Caleb lowers his head to Molly’s collarbone, lips tracing the border of his tattoo. “Let’s not invite interruptions,” he says.  Molly thrills at his touch. He circles his hands around Caleb’s back and pulls apart his shirt and waistband and gods, when did Caleb put this many layers on?

Caleb crawls up his chest and laves his tongue against his neck. Molly still can’t find his ass and is starting to get a little annoyed over it. He settles for sliding his hands under Caleb’s shirt and gripping his sides. There’s no warmth built-up under his clothing—his skin’s as cool as the night air.

Caleb’s nose digs into his neck and stays there. He’s practically vibrating with tension. Every muscle in his body is taut. Molly frees a hand, drags clawtips through his hair. Teases out tangles and skritches gently at his scalp. “Are you okay?”

Caleb sighs into his neck. Belatedly, Molly realizes that he hadn’t been breathing, before. “You don’t want this, Molly.”

That won’t do. Molly hooks one arm around Caleb’s back and pulls him into a hug. He cradles Caleb’s face with his other, drawing his thumb across his lips. He nudges a fingertip into Caleb’s mouth until he feels the sharp edge of a fang. Caleb withdraws, plants his hands on either side of Molly and levers himself up.

Caleb stares down at him. Molly could get used to this view. He loves being pinned on his back. Loves the look Caleb’s giving him, even if he doesn’t understand it. Caleb’s—impassive, maybe? But absorbed. Molly has the whole of his attention. “Sweetheart. Caleb. Look at me. I really, really do. And not just because I want to get laid.”

A muscle jumps in Caleb’s jaw. He opens his mouth wide and fangs much longer than Molly’s own slide into view. Molly grins back at him, giddy, and Caleb groans. “I am trying so very hard to exercise some amount of self-control, Mollymauk.”

 _That’s_ the tension. That’s the careful distance between them, the muscle jumping in Caleb’s jaw, the way his pupils dilate and shrink. Caleb’s anxious on his behalf, because Molly’s emotions keep turning up lust and thrill with not one ounce of restraining fear. “No, no I’m very into this. Don’t hesitate _for_ me.”

Caleb groans. But he also relaxes, lowers himself down very slowly. His hands travel to Molly’s shoulders and push his shirt down. He kisses Molly’s tattoo, across his neck, trails his lips to the opposite shoulder. Molly’s breath catches in his throat. He brings up his legs and hooks his ankles in the back of Caleb’s knees, lets his head loll.

He’s waiting for Caleb’s mouth to travel back to his neck when he feels twin jolts of pain sink into his shoulder. He gasps and bucks. Caleb bears down and grips his arms. His fangs slide free in agonizing increments that shoot waves of electric heat from Molly’s shoulder to the base of his horns. Caleb works his mouth against the wound, Molly limp and pliant under him. The pulse of his own blood is heady, the pull of Caleb’s mouth insistent. He feels light-headed and tingly. The pain’s turning his blood into thick syrup, pooling close beneath his skin. It’s like the buzz of being drunk—better than being drunk, because he’s half-hard against Caleb’s hips, pinned underneath him and surrounded by his scent.

He moans, full-throated, and cants his hips. His shoulder’s going numb under Caleb’s mouth, the skin broken and mottled. He’s going to have the most spectacular hickey of his life. Never would he dream of buttoning his shirt for once and hiding it—no, he wants to see his lavender skin petaled with bruise-red and deep purple, wants to see Caleb’s gaze on it. He wants matching marks running up his neck. He wants to wear Caleb with pride, to be unmistakably his, to never lose this moment of being surrounded and consumed and pouring his pulse down Caleb’s throat.

The pressure of Caleb’s mouth lessens. He laps at Molly’s skin, brushes sticky lips up to his neck. Molly turns his head to meet Caleb in a kiss, traces his tongue along the edges of fangs and tastes his own blood. Caleb’s grip on his arms finally eases enough for Molly to slide hands back under his shirt. He coaxes Caleb’s tongue into his mouth, sucks it with wet, sliding heat and lets his eyes shutter closed. He can feel blood trickling down his shoulder and staining the coat beneath him. Caleb sighs into his mouth, then chuckles when Molly slides fingers under his waistband.

“Give me a moment,” Caleb says. He flips the edge of his coat up and rummages in a pocket. He sits up between Molly’s legs—Molly whines about it—and unwraps a small package of gauze squares. With careful fingers he pats one over the wound on Molly’s shoulder and then guides his hand up to press it in place.

Molly uses his other hand to retrieve the small glass bottle of lube from one of his pockets. “I’m prepared too,” he says to Caleb’s confused look.

Caleb unscrews the bottle—he tries to pull the lid straight off first, bless him—and sniffs it. Then he laughs. “Do you always carry this on you person?”

“What else am I to do? Leave it in my pack for one of the terrible women in our life to find?” It’s an attractive bottle—opaque blue-stained glass cut in diamond edges. A prime target for thievery and teasing that would run counter to what Molly intended when he made the purchase.

Caleb recaps the bottle with careful, precise motions and sets it aside. “How are you feeling?” he asks. “Are you in pain?”

“Could be even better, and yes, it’s great,” Molly says, waggling his eyebrows. His tail thuds happily against Caleb’s coat. He plucks at his pants with his free hand and can’t quite manage the buttons. Caleb catches him abandoning the gauze and replaces his hand with a stern look.

“Let me do this,” he says, grabbing for Molly’s waistband. He deftly plucks the buttons loose. This is now further than they’ve ever gotten, and Caleb gets Molly’s tail stuck in both his pants and his underwear as he pulls them down. Molly’s giggling at the end of it, cock bobbing free against his hip. Caleb huffs a laugh and shoves his own pants down with much less trouble. Molly props himself up on his elbows to watch—Caleb’s hips are creamy and just barely flushed, and his cock is frustratingly hidden behind his hanging shirt.

“Lie back down,” Caleb says, tapping his thigh. “I haven’t the means to tape that gauze in place.”

The gauze is sliding off and Molly cares not one bit. He’s well and used feeling blood flow from his skin. He supposes he’s been teasing Caleb, somewhat, and wishes he’d known enough to take full advantage of that. “But I want to see you!”

“Do I need to tape _you_ in place? Lie still.”

“I think you do,” Molly says, waggling his eyebrows. “Put a pin in that for next time? Pretty please?”

Caleb closes his eyes with a look of dismay that melts into amusement. Molly doesn’t miss the way his teeth catch on his lip, or the flush that spreads across his cheeks. “Maybe, if you _behave_ ,” he allows. Molly clamps a hand over the gauze and nods eagerly.

He falls back and stretches his legs out with a contented hum. Caleb watches him with far more overt hunger than he allowed himself before. Molly’s just grown impatient with not being touched when Caleb wraps a firm hand around his cock and pumps him.

“Oh that’s good,” he says. Molly rubs his horns against Caleb’s coat, thrums in his throat like a deep purr. “You’re so good, sweetheart.”  Caleb pillows his head against Molly’s leg. He jerks his cock slowly and firmly, running his thumb over the ridge of its head. Molly loses himself in the sensation. He can’t come like this, even as wound-up as he is, but the feel of Caleb’s hand on him is deeply sating.

Caleb mouths wetly at the inside of Molly’s thigh, a hint of teeth scraping. Molly shivers and his cock jumps. Caleb hums a questioning noise.

“Yes,” Molly says. “Yes, definitely, great idea.”

Caleb presses his lips against the skin and keeps jerking. He builds speed and Molly wriggles, toes and tail curling. He feels fangs sink into his thigh midstroke and strangles a yelp.

The sensation shoots from his thigh straight to his cock. The pain pulses in counterpoint to Caleb’s hand on him, so overwhelming that he doesn’t realize Caleb’s withdrawn his fangs until he feels lips seal over broken skin.

The light-headedness comes roaring back and redoubles. Molly’s body doesn’t exist beyond the dull aches in his shoulder and thigh and Caleb’s hand squeezing his cock. His limbs are leaden but his mind’s floating, strung out between the pain and pleasure melding into desperate sensitivity and want. His cock slicks with precum and Caleb’s thumb idly smears it across the head.

Molly’s heart is fluttering light and frantic when Caleb licks his thigh clean and replaces his mouth with gauze. He moves languidly, smile playing across his lips, and lets go of Molly’s cock. It takes Molly a few seconds to remember to whine about this.

“You look gorgeous,” Caleb says. He’s hovering over Molly’s waist now, one hand pressing gauze into his thigh and the other trailing along his hipbone. His eyes are dark and clear with need and his lips are stained bright red. “Time for bed, do you think?”

Molly opens and closes his mouth several times before words come to him. “I don’t feel like we’re nearly done here,” he croons. Or tries to. The words come out rather slurred. He’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

Caleb grins and lowers his head. He hovers a hair’s breadth over Molly’s cock, so close that he feels the air move when Caleb licks his lips. Molly gathers enough strength to buck up and his cock bounces off Caleb’s cheek. He shoves Molly back down. “None of that,” he says. “You’d been so good, Mollymauk. Do you think you deserve a reward?”

“You are an enormous tease,” Molly says, tripping over his tongue. “And I dearly love it, and please, please keep touching me.”

“I’d like to taste you. Again. And fuck you, after,” Caleb says bluntly. Molly nods his head eagerly, gold chains jingling. The motion makes him so dizzy he has to squeeze his eyes shut. “If you’re really and truly able.”

“Yes,” he says. “Please. I am.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Caleb says. “I’m finding it increasingly unlikely that you know when to stop.”

“Well,” Molly says. Then he realizes he can’t actually think of anything to say in his defense. He’d like to blame the fuzziness in his head on the late hour, or the battle earlier, or how punch-drunk he is with relief and pain and pleasure. Not the blood staining Caleb’s lips. Not when he wants them wrapped around his cock.

“This silence is uncharacteristic of you,” Caleb says. Molly feels the puff of his breath against his groin and shudders.

“Please please please suck me off?” Molly says. “There, is that in-character enough for you?”

Caleb laughs full-bodied, quaking against Molly’s leg. “You’re going to be the death of me, Mollymauk. Or yourself.” He licks his lips and takes Molly’s cock in his mouth.

Molly knows he’s had far more practice minding his fangs than Caleb. He’s fully prepared to be bitten again, so it’s a pleasant surprise when he feels nothing but a wet, velvety slide. He moans appreciatively. Caleb bobs his head. His lips form a tight circle of perfect, smooth friction, and with each stroke his throat opens up more and he takes Molly a little deeper. Molly feels Caleb’s tongue against the length of his shaft. The gauze at his shoulder is stuck fast with dried blood, so Molly curls towards Caleb and brings his hands down to tangle in his hair. He only sways a little. His vision fuzzes black at the edges, but as long as he can see Caleb’s beautiful mouth around him he’s better than fine.

Caleb pops his mouth off Molly’s cock. “For gods’ sake, stop petting me and lie back down. You look like you’re going to faint.”

“Shan’t,” Molly says, smoothing Caleb’s hair away from his face. “But don’t stop if I do.”

Caleb presses his forehead into Molly’s hip and groans. “I spent many nights fretting over what would come of divulging my secret. Never in all my imaginings did I anticipate _this_ problem.”

“I live to surprise you.”

“If you faint I’m going to put my pants back on and get help.”

Molly releases Caleb’s head and collapses back so hard his horns thud audibly. “Don’t move,” Caleb says, squeezing his thigh. That sends a frisson of pain shooting up to his crotch that Molly is very much interested in. But then Caleb sits up and leans over Molly’s leg, forcing him to lie still and be good when he’s burning with curiosity. Caleb settles back between his legs and doesn’t immediately take him back in, another extremely regrettable development.

Then he feels slicked fingers sliding against his ass. He levers his hips up to allow Caleb access, as much as he’s able with Caleb still pressing gauze into his thigh. As an added bonus this frees his tail enough to wrap it around Caleb’s arm. Blunt fingertips spread lube around his entrance and gently probe. Caleb seals his mouth around Molly’s cock, sucks him with one fingertip barely breaching inside. “That’s so good,” Molly gasps. “More, please, I’m ready.”

Caleb hums around his cock and presses one slender finger in. Molly takes it in with ease, perfectly relaxed, and then clenches once to feel it solid inside him. Caleb’s eyes widen and he shifts against Molly’s leg. Molly grins with the realization that he doesn’t have a hand to spare for himself.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Molly says. “ _More_. I want to take you.”

Caleb presses in and stretches him. Molly loves that he has no idea how many fingers he’s taking. It feels like a lot, feels like his skin is taut and burning sweetly. Caleb fucks him slowly, curling fingers inside him and spreading him open. All the while he sucks at Molly’s cock. The building pleasure pools heavy and blanketing, sharpened by the throb of pain.

He comes quietly, breathless and desperate. Caleb swallows around him and fucks his fingers deeper and tears a scream from Molly’s throat.

The seconds he’s given to recover slip away from him, washed away by the sensations still wracking his body. He feels Caleb’s hands and mouth and nothing else, not the heaviness of his limbs or the ground beneath him. He’s floating on cottony waves and listening to his own labored breathing when Caleb sits up and drags him into his lap. His length is gratifyingly hard and warm against Molly’s ass.

“Hi,” Molly says, more than a little giddy. He cracks his eyes open. He doesn’t have it in him to focus his vision, even to see Caleb’s beautiful face. But he does wink.  “Come here often, sweetheart? Get it? Come?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Caleb says, voice rough. “I suspect you could be dead and buried and you’d still get up for sex.”

Molly giggles until he sees stars. “That literally happened—”

“I know, I’m already regretting my word choice.”

“And you—you’re a vampire—”

Caleb prods the wound on his thigh and he yelps. “Roll over for me, love. I want you on your stomach.”

Molly’s first attempt to flip over is an uncoordinated flail that ends with his knee in Caleb’s ribs, his tail caught in Caleb’s sleeve, and the gauze fluttering loose. Caleb helps him free, then skitters fingertips down the length of his tail to the sensitive spot at the base of his spine. Molly giggles and leans into his touch, draws his knees up beneath him so he’s fully on display. Caleb traces fingers down to his slick entrance. He withdraws to retrieve the gauze, slapping it down on Molly’s thigh when he grumbles. Then he sits up on his knees and Molly cheers at the feel of his cock against his ass.

Caleb grabs his cheeks and spreads him. Then he reins himself in again, relaxes his grip and draws back. “You _will_ tell me if you feel unwell. Don’t let me hurt you, Mollymauk.”

Molly nods and wriggles back against him. Caleb slaps his ass sharply and then huffs at his giggle. “I don’t think I can punish you at this point without punishing _me_ ,” he says.

“Well, you’re very smart,” Molly says, words muffled against the coat. “You’ll figure something out for next time.”

Caleb hums. Then he takes himself in hand and guides himself into Molly. He slides in, thick and blunt, so agonizingly slow that Molly’s spine is weak when his hips finally press flush into his ass. He drapes against Molly’s back and kisses his shoulder blades.

Molly’s head is fuzzy again, molasses-viscous thoughts eddying with the push and pull of Caleb’s body. He’s soft and spent, pliant and supplicating. Nothing’s ever felt as good as all the ways Caleb’s touched him—he wants more, even on the edge of exhaustion. He bares his neck.

“Absolutely not,” Caleb says. His cock jumps inside Molly. “I’m going to use you, but not to the point of ruin.” He pulls his hips back, slides out inch by inch, and then slams back in. Just once, then stills. “Are you with me?”

Molly spends seconds waiting for the next thrust before he remembers the question. “Mm-hmm.”

“And can you say that in Common?”

“Yes, gods, please fuck me.”

Caleb grabs one of his horns and tugs. “I have to hold back because I’m not sure I can trust you to stop me. I will be devastated if I hurt you.”

“It’s so _good_ though,” Molly whines. Caleb says something in Zemnian that sounds rather like a curse.

He kneads at the junction of Molly’s ass and thighs. Drags his face against Molly’s spine, shaking his head. Molly can feel his composure fraying.

“Alright, then,” Caleb says softly. The hand around Molly’s horn tightens and wrenches his head back. Caleb bucks into him hard. It’s too much in the best way, every thrust jostling Molly’s whole body. Molly takes it in as raw sensation, numbed past the point of pleasure. His breathing grows shallow and his tail drapes limply. Caleb thrusts erratically, alternating soft strokes with driving Molly into the ground.

When Caleb releases Molly’s horn it’s only to dig fingers into his sides and pull him onto his cock. Molly distantly realizes Caleb might’ve had a point—his _everything_ aches, now. He’s been split open by Caleb’s fangs and cock and tomorrow he’s going to be expected to ride all day. But he’d do it again, take everything from the top even when worn-down to nothing. He wants for _Caleb’s_ pleasure. He moans for him, presses back against him and lets his tail curl in knots.

Caleb comes with a shout, burying himself to the hilt. He flops limply against Molly’s back. Molly breathes with him. He nearly drifts off, unwilling to do anything to disturb Caleb. But his knees are screaming under the weight and he can feel blood slick against his thigh. And Caleb said to not let him hurt him.

Molly wriggles. “I love this, but we need to move. Bleeding again.” Caleb groans and pulls out slowly. He rolls off Molly and digs out a fresh square of gauze for him. He also pulls over their discarded pants.

“You never stopped bleeding,” he says. He clamps the gauze down tightly. “We should see Jester.”

“Like _this?_ Please no,” Molly says. He turns on his side and closes his thighs, pressing the gauze between them. “Stay here with me, sweetheart. Let’s prolong our doom for at least a few hours.”

“…Maybe they won’t notice,” Caleb says. “We could say we talked.”

“And then I, what—fell on two sticks with my shoulder and thigh and shoved one directly up my ass? Just look at me, Caleb.”

Caleb stares into Molly’s eyes with a soft, contented smile, and it takes Molly tapping a clawtip against his shoulder to drag his gaze down. The skin around the gauze is bruised tender and dark, almost as vibrant as the tattoo on Molly’s opposite shoulder.

“Ah,” Caleb says, swallowing thickly.

“I’m also leaking cum,” Molly says. “I think we might have to burn your coat.”

Caleb claps his hands over his face to stifle a snort. Molly attempts to sit and discovers that his body loses all sense of which direction is up the second he raises his torso. He finds himself splayed out on the ground with Caleb’s hands on his shoulders, fingers carefully bracketing his wound.

Caleb balls his pants up and slides them under Molly’s head. Molly gathers enough strength to drape an arm around his waist. He feebly tugs until Caleb gets the idea and lies down.

“I should get you water,” Caleb says. But he’s running a hand through Molly’s hair and Molly can’t stand the thought of him stopping.

“Don’t go yet?” he breathes. “I’ll fall asleep in minutes either way—let me do it in your arms.”

Caleb presses a kiss to his forehead and strokes his hair until he drifts off. The first time he’s woken up, to drink from a canteen and fall back asleep curled into Caleb’s chest, is wonderful. The second time—to frantically shove his legs into pants and hobble out of the forest to face their friends—is less so. But Caleb bears the teasing and leads him arm-in-arm, mindful of his myriad aches and pains.

Molly’s exhausted after the day’s journey. He sneaks into Caleb’s tent anyway, hopeful, and is content to be sat on and forced to rest while Caleb reads. There’s always tomorrow, Caleb assures him. And many days after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Not pictured: Caleb slinks into the campsite at ass o’clock, holding Molly’s pants up at his waist. Fjord, sitting alone on guard duty, resolutely ignores him. Caleb runs off with a canteen, and the fact that he didn’t have a light is lost in the overall weirdness of the scene until much later.


End file.
